


Life Is For The Living

by zagirlfriends



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/F, an assortment of different dynamics and relationships pop up, but the focus stays mostly on tara/rosita, but there's some smooches in there too, mature rating is mostly for swearing and some violence not smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 14:31:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10969185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zagirlfriends/pseuds/zagirlfriends
Summary: Following the events of the finale, Rosita learns how to live and love again, with a little help from her friends.





	Life Is For The Living

**Author's Note:**

> i) There is not enough Rositara fics out there and they say you should be the change you wish to see in the world, so.  
> ii) This isn't my usual style, but I had so many points I wanted to hit, and this just worked best for me.  
> iii) I'm still not that comfortable with this world, but I ventured out a lot more with this one than my last, so I hope it works.  
> iv) The war with Negan is kind of a backdrop in this, but I don't go into too much detail because I can't be bothered with that.  
> v) Shout out to a friend of mine for helping me along with this the entire time, you're the best.

**i.**

The fight is over before it even starts, at least for Rosita.

It's just Eugene. Negan. Sasha. _Red_. Then black.

She feels the steel against her back sooner than she feels the bullet in her shoulder, and before she even fully registers what's happening, Tara is swooping in and dragging her away from the fray like some kind of guardian angel with a submachine gun.

Everything blurs as they run, past bullets and bodies, until they reach the safety of the infirmary. Once inside, Rosita collapses on the nearest bed while Tara locks the door behind them and frantically gathers any equipment she thinks might be needed.

"Okay, full disclosure; I have no idea what I'm doing here," Tara admits in a panic, eyes wide and terrified as she looks down at Rosita's tense body. "Cuts or splinters, I'm your girl. Bullet wounds, I'm a little out of my league. So please don't pass out because I'm really gonna need you to walk me through this. You know, assuming you don't wanna die or anything."

Rosita hisses in pain and squeezes her eyes shut, and she doesn't want to die. "Check to see if there's an exit wound," she spits out, groaning as Tara carefully rolls her over enough to see that the back of her shirt is stained darker with blood.

"Through and through," Tara confirms in relief, knowing enough to know that's good news.

Rosita nods and tries to sit up, gripping the bottom of her shirt. "Help me get this off."

"I'm thinking it'd just be easier to cut it," Tara counters, already reaching for a pair of scissors. She starts from the hem and slices up to the collar, ripping the rest of the material out of the way to get to the bloody mess underneath. "Not how I imagined getting you topless, but y'know."

Rosita rolls her eyes. " _Tara_."

"Not the time for jokes, got it." Tara stalls herself and takes a deep breath. "Alright, gorgeous, tell me what to do."

 

 

The first thing Rosita sees when she wakes up the next day is Michonne laying in the bed next to her, Rick and Carl resting at her bedsides. She looks fucking awful, but she also looks like she won - like _they_ won – and it's almost enough for Rosita to not resent her for having people that actually give a shit she's hurt, when she has no one.

But then she turns and there's Tara, curled up and sleeping in the chair on the other side of her bed, still watching over her.

"She's been there all night," Carl tells her, like he knows what she's thinking.

Okay, so maybe not _no one_.

 

 

Rosita gets kicked out of the infirmary later that evening because someone else needs her bed, and she somehow finds herself staying with Tara at Denise's old place. She blames the pain killers for making her more agreeable than she'd normally be.

"You gonna be alright in here?" Tara checks from her spot in the doorway, where she's been hovering for the past fifteen minutes.

" _I'm fine_ ," she insists, for maybe the twentieth time.

"Your pain killers are right there on the nightstand, if you need them during the night," Tara rattles on, pointing them out as if getting shot in the shoulder has made Rosita blind now. "And the bathroom is just down the hall. I'm right next door, so just yell if you need anything..."

"Jesus, I said I was fine," Rosita snaps as she struggles to get comfortable in bed without jostling her injured arm.

Rosita can see Tara's eyes flash something from all the way across the room before she bows her head, her chastised face disappearing behind a curtain of hair. "Right, sorry. I'll just let you get some rest."

"Tara," Rosita sighs, stopping the other woman before she's fully turned around. She knows Tara's just trying to help and her frustration is with everything else but her. "You think you could get me a glass of water, for the pills?"

A smile tugs at the corner of Tara's lips, and her shoulders lose some tension. "Sure."

By the time she comes back and places the full glass on the nightstand beside her pills, Rosita has finally found a half decent position and is already half way out.

"Thank you," she tells Tara sleepily, for more than just the water. She reaches out and brushes her fingers against Tara's forearm lightly. _I'm sorry_ , it says.

"Anytime," Tara promises, but Rosita is already asleep.

 

 

Aaron and Eric stop by the next day to finally give them a rundown of everything they missed now that they've had a good night's sleep and can digest everything.

They tell them about the second lineup, about that damn tiger saving Carl from Lucille and Maggie and the Hilltop coming in for backup; about Negan getting away unscathed.

They won, but they didn't Win, and Rosita's not surprised. This is going to be a war, not a battle, and nothing that big is ever won in a day.

But, it just confirms Sasha died for _nothing_ , and that's a little harder for Rosita to swallow.

 

 

She spends the rest of the day being useless inside because she's _healing_ , and she goes to bed having not done nor said anything much at all. Everyone else is working, though - talking and planning and getting ready; no longer standing still. That's enough for Rosita, for now. That was all she had wanted.

Usually she dreams of Negan, and who he's taken from her, and from everyone else. Tonight, Rosita dreams of a necklace, and knots, and a fence; of a woman who treated her with nothing but kindness even when she got anything but from her in return.

"I'm sorry," she says to this blurry figure in the shape of her friend, and it almost sounds like she's crying.

The shape smiles brightly, though a bit painfully. "It's okay, it happens," it says to her.

"It didn't have to," Rosita insists, looking further into the distance and seeing it all play out again; a fence becoming a brick wall. "It shouldn't have."

A shrug and a wider smile. "But it did." And it does, again and again and again. "I don't regret it."

"I do." She does, maybe all of it. She has a really long list, but she can't decide if caring at all is on it.

"You shouldn't," she's told, and she feels compelled to believe it. "Don't regret any of it. Learn from it, like you've learned from everything. Take what you need from me and bounce. _Move on_. Stop surviving and _live_. Figure your shit out. You only have so long."

Then Rosita wakes up, but not in the sweaty panic she usually does when it's Abraham or Olivia, or even Spencer. There's no pounding in her head or vortex in her stomach, and there's less weight on her chest.

 

 

"I ever tell you where I learned how to handle bombs?" Rosita asks Tara out of nowhere over breakfast the next morning, breaking the relative silence that had settled over them.

Tara looks surprised for a moment – maybe not at the words, but rather what they mean - and encourages her to continue. "Nope," she answers around a bite of toast. "Where?"

"There was this guy, Johnny," Rosita begins, and she finds the story's a bit easier to tell the second time around.

 

 

The newest doctor says Rosita is benched for at least two weeks, and she's surprisingly okay with it. She'd rather be out and active, killing and fighting things, but she deals with it.

She can feel Tara watching her like a hawk, afraid she's gonna slip out and go rogue again, maybe get _herself_ killed this time. She doesn't know she really doesn't have to worry, because Rosita's not planning on going anywhere. Something's changed, shifted, and made it easier to stay.

So she stays, and she tries. She tries and she tries and she tries. Rosita tries a lot of things, only succeeds at some, but that's good enough for now. She can keep trying. She's just tired of trying and _always_ failing - herself and others; the ones that are alive, but especially the ones that are dead.

"We're not doing this for them," Father Gabriel tells her one day when she goes to visit him, a habit she's found herself developing when she gets too restless to sit around the house any longer.

" _He killed them_ ," Rosita reminds him through gritted teeth, her knees aching as she remembers. She's always remembering. "How can this _not_ be for them?"

Gabriel purses his lips and shakes his head, gives her that look like she's a silly child. "The dead are already dead," he says and makes it sound so simple. "They don't need us to fight for them. We fight for the living. We're doing this for _our_ lives, Rosita. So we can _live_. "

Something shifts and changes again.

 

 

Rosita thinks about Gabriel's words for days. She always does, and she hates that, but maybe he's right.

She thinks about Maggie and Sasha and everyone else Negan has taken from; wonders what _they're_ fighting for. Is Maggie doing this for Glenn or for her baby? When Sasha ran into that building, was she thinking of Abraham or Maggie, or herself?

 _If we can, I say we stay outside. Do it clean. Maybe make it out of there alive,_ Sasha had said. _You see a problem with that?_

Rosita had, because that wasn't part of her plan. She was ready to die, and Sasha was, too, but only one of them had _wanted_ it. They had been fighting for different things and Rosita hadn't even realized it.

She didn't even know there were still other things worth fighting for.

 

 

Rosita's not much of a hugger, but when Maggie pulls her into one as she opens the door for her, it still somehow feels natural.

Maggie and Enid are in Alexandria for a meeting Rick and Daryl have somehow set up with Dwight the next day, and Tara absolutely insists they spend the night there.

"I'm sorry," Rosita whispers into Maggie's shoulder, though she's not sure what exactly she's apologizing for. Glenn? Sasha? "For everything."

Maggie just shakes her head and squeezes her tighter. "Not your fault. Not any of it."

Rosita doesn't think that's true at all, but she's not about to argue with a pregnant lady.

When Maggie pulls away, she takes Rosita's hand and places something gently in her palm. It's a necklace, the one Rosita had made for Abraham. "Where did you-?"

"When I…" Maggie starts and then stops, and her eyes get sad. "She was wearing it when Jesus and I found her. I know it was Abraham's, so I thought maybe you'd want it."

Rosita looks down at the necklace, brushes her thumb over it and shakes her head. "It was Sasha's," she corrects her, admits to herself. She gives the necklace back to Maggie. "So you should have it now."

 

 

Maggie and Enid stay in Rosita's room so she crashes with Tara. It feels like forever since Rosita's shared a bed with someone and it's weirdly comforting.

"It's nice to all be back together again," Tara says into the dark. "GREATM," she elaborates, as if Rosita is supposed to know what that means. "What's left of us, anyways. I guess it's just… RETM now. That doesn't even spell anything. TERM? But that just makes me think of Terminus…"

"What are you babbling about?" Rosita finally asks, but her tone is more amused than anything. It's not like she's really trying to sleep.

Tara lolls her head to the side to look at her. "GREATM, y'know, the Washington crew? After the church?"

"Yeah, _that_ I remember," Rosita nods. "Don't remember us having a ridiculous acronym, though."

"Well, we did," Tara confirms with a hint of a smile. "It was the first letter of all our names, by the way."

Rosita laughs. "I got that."

Then there's just silence for a bit, before Tara speaks again. "I guess it's really kinda just us now, though," she admits quietly after a moment, probably for the first time. "Maggie's over at Hilltop more often than not. And Eugene is-"

"A traitor," Rosita cuts her off harshly, but Tara doesn't seem to take it personally.

There's another moment of silence, the air heavier. She can feel Tara looking at her, probably trying to gauge whether it's something Rosita wants to talk about. It's not, and thankfully Tara gets that.

"Looks like it's just you and me then, kid," she finally says instead, and it sounds sad, but Rosita's starting to realize she could be a lot worse off. She hasn't lost everything yet.

She nudges Tara's melancholy away. "So, are we going with RT or TR?"

 

 

The group heads out early, armed and ready for anything as they follow Daryl to the predetermined meeting spot. It's six of them, and that's probably at least three more than needed, but Rick wants as many people included in the decisions as possible lately. He's trying to be the Anti Negan, but Rosita doesn't think he needs to try so hard.

Dwight is already waiting there by the time they arrive, and Rosita sticks close to Tara the entire time. Her unease around him is obvious, but she's not encouraging Daryl to kill the guy this time, so that's progress. Still, she's tense and her fists are clenched, and Rosita makes sure their arms are touching so Tara remembers she's there.

The meeting lasts for almost an hour before Rick is satisfied and sending Dwight on his way back to the Sanctuary, and it isn't until he's completely out of sight that Tara finally relaxes again.

"You didn't have to come," Rick reminds her kindly in that soft voice of his, obviously picking up on her discomfort because _of course_ he does.

Tara leans against Rosita a little when she answers, "Yeah, I did."

 

 

"You okay?" Rosita finally asks when they're about half way back to Alexandria. The group has kind of naturally split off into twos, and she and Tara are bringing up the rear.

Tara tosses away the twig she's been idly playing with and shrugs. "I'm fine."

Rosita shakes her head. "I don't know how you can do it," she admits, admiration clear in her voice. She tries to imagine any circumstance that would require her to work with Negan after what he'd taken from her; she thinks of Eugene doing it now, and feels sick. "I never could."

"Yeah, well, we all have to do stuff we don't want to if we wanna survive," Tara replies back, trying to play it off. It makes her think of Eugene again. "We don't stand a chance without him. And Glenn, he…"

Rosita waits for Tara to finish, but she's got this far off look in her eyes even though her feet keep moving one in front of the other. "What about Glenn?" she eventually nudges her along.

Tara looks at Maggie walking in front of them for a moment before finally looking back at Rosita with those full eyes she gets sometimes.

"He let me help him, before," she starts carefully. "We were on opposite sides and my people did awful things to his, killed Maggie's dad right in front of her." Rosita remembers hearing bits and pieces of the story, but never the whole thing. It had been more about Maggie than Tara back then. "I didn't really hurt anyone, but he didn't know that. He saved me and let me help him find Maggie, and make up for the horrible thing I let myself become a part of and I just…" Tara shrugs helplessly, and for the first time Rosita realizes that maybe she's not the only one that doesn't have her shit all figured out.

"WWGD?" Rosita guesses, and Tara nods.

"I think it's what Glenn would do," she echoes with a more resolute nod. "No matter how much he hated Dwight, if it would help all of us survive, Glenn would put his own feelings aside and give him the chance." Tara looks over at her friend and shrugs again. "So that's what I'm trying to do."

Rosita links her arm through Tara's and thinks maybe Father Gabriel was wrong. Maybe it doesn't have to be one or the other; maybe she can fight for the living _and_ the dead, as long as she doesn't forget which she is.

 

**ii.**

 

While the group mulls over how best to use the information Dwight has given them, Tara is making plans of her own.

"They're just sitting out there, _unarmed_ , with no idea what happened," Tara reasons from her spot at the kitchen table, where she's watching Rosita get dinner ready. "For all they know, we're all dead and they're just sitting ducks, waiting for the Saviors to find them and finish them off." Rosita hums her agreement, letting her know she's listening. "I just think they should know what's going on, and it's not like I can just text them."

Tara is bordering on her Empowering Speech voice, so Rosita knows it must be important to her. "You're too nice for your own good sometimes."

"My dad used to say being too nice was gonna get me killed one day," Tara replies, but she sounds distracted, like she's already mapping out her way back to Oceanside.

"Better not," Rosita shoots back, but doesn't turn away from the stove until the silence stretches on too long and she finds Tara anxiously picking at her nails. "Talk to Rick then," she advises. "See if he can spare us for a couple days."

Tara's head snaps up. "You'll come with me?"

"You can't go alone and I got nothing better to do," Rosita says, like that's the only reason. "As long as you can wait a couple days until I'm officially cleared, I'm game."

"I can wait," Tara promises, like she hasn't been since the day they met.

 

 

The last few days of her grounding drag on agonizingly slow, but after what feels more like six weeks, Rosita finally gets the go ahead to start doing shit again.

Her shoulder still burns when she overdoes it and she won't be wrestling any tigers anytime soon, but it's a start, and Rosita's trying not to bitch about everything as much, so she lives with it.

It also means she can probably move out and back to her own place now, but Tara doesn't mention it and Rosita doesn't either, so apparently they just live together now.

It's something they'll have to continue to not discuss when they come back, because Tara insists they head out as soon as possible after getting the go ahead from Rick. He gives them each a hiking backpack full of guns and ammo to give back to the women now that they can spare some, and sends them on their way.

 

 

The trek takes most of the day, but it's fairly uneventful. They have to handle a few walkers here and there, but otherwise they make it across the water unharmed and mostly dry about an hour before sundown.

They're just at the perimeter of the camp when they're suddenly stopped by a lone figure jumping out in front of them and waving a long sharp stick in their direction.

"We're just here to talk!" Tara immediately assures her, empty hands held up high until she recognizes their attacker and her worried expression morphs into a scowl.

"Oh. It's you again," the little girl sighs in disappointment, her disdain obvious. She doesn't lower her stick even when Tara's arms fall back to her sides. "You're still alive then?"

"Unfortunately for you," Tara replies, and Rosita half expects her to stick out her tongue.

The girl rolls her eyes like a seasoned pro. "Whatever," she huffs and spins on her heel to start stomping back towards her camp. "Cyndie! Your girlfriend's back!"

"That kid sucks," Rosita can't help but laugh as they start to follow after her.

"You don't even know the half of it."

 

 

Cyndie gives them a much warmer welcome.

Well, she gives Tara one, anyway. Rosita just kind of stands back awkwardly and watches them hug tightly and for a little too long. In her opinion anyways, but again, she's never been much of a hugger, so what does she know?

"I'm so glad you're okay," Cyndie says as she finally pulls away, her hands on Tara's shoulders as she looks her over for injuries. "We were all starting to get worried."

Tara shakes her head. "No, no, yeah, sorry it took so long to get back here," she apologies. "I should've come sooner, I just…" She gestures vaguely with her hands and Cyndie seems to get it. "Yeah. But we're mostly all okay."

"You guys won?" Her hope sounds restrained, but it's hope nonetheless, and Rosita already understands why they get along.

"We didn't lose," Tara answers with her usual optimism, stepping back out of Cyndie's grip so she can start slipping off her backpack. "Didn't look good for a bit there, but we got help from some friends and won the battle, at least." She swings the bag around to her front and opens the flap, letting the other girl see what they'd brought.

"You don't need them anymore?" Cyndie asks with a furrowed brow, pulling a couple of guns out of the bag.

"Not all of them." Tara slips the bag off completely and places it on a nearby table for her friend to sort through. "Their leader got away and it's this whole big thing still, but Rick said we could spare some guns now, and wanted to give some of these back to you guys so you at least have something to protect yourselves with."

Cyndie holds one of the bigger guns up and admires it with a smile. "The girls will definitely be happy about this."

"Probably don't give one to the kid, though," Rosita finally pipes up from behind them as she moves over to add her pack of guns to the collection.

"Rachel's harmless, really." Tara scoffs, and Rosita really wants to know the story there. "Okay, maybe she's not the most welcoming to strangers, but she won't kill you in your sleep or anything, I promise."

Rosita cracks a smile at the dubious look Tara is shooting her. "What a glowing character reference."

"And it's still too nice," Tara adds as she takes the second backpack being handed to her. "Anyways, Rosita, this is Cyndie. Cyndie, Rosita."

Cyndie gives Rosita a once over, but she's definitely not looking for injuries. Her expression isn't unkind, but it's still hard to read, until something like recognition flickers in her eyes.

"Oh, is this your gir-"

"Nope," she's immediately cut off, before more guns and ammo are unceremoniously dumped onto the table. "No, remember I told you what happened to my- Nope, not my gi… _Nope_."

"I'm not her _girlfriend_ ," Rosita confirms after Tara's stuttering has finished, putting emphasis on the word Tara seems to be short circuiting over.

"Mhmm," is Cyndie's only reply, and now it's awkward.

 

 

Natania doesn't thank them for the guns, nor does she even look at them. But, she does tell Cyndie she can do whatever the hell she wants with her own room when she asks her grandmother if they can stay the night, so at least she doesn't seem to actively want them dead. That's more than can be said about Rachel, so she's not the worst.

Cyndie makes them a late dinner and it's probably the best meal either of them have had in ages. It's enough for Rosita to find herself starting to like the girl, despite her initial instinct not to. It's just hard to dislike someone that makes lasagna this good. It's _almost_ as good as her abuela's was.

She stays quiet as Tara tells everyone at the table what happened with the Saviors; what they experienced themselves and what they were told, and what they're planning on doing next. Rosita watches the women as they listen, and it's so obvious to her which ones want to fight but can't because their leader is too afraid. It's a frustration she knows all too well.

Rosita would have told them to forget what Natania says and do what they want, before. It's what she did. But that didn't work out so well for her or the people around her, and she's learned; is still learning. So she keeps her mouth shut and lets them stick together.

 

 

Cyndie's room is nothing like Rosita's. It's tiny and green and _hers_. The books on the table, the pictures on the walls, they're all probably hers, not anyone else's. There's two single beds crammed into the tight space, yet it still feels more comfortable than her own.

She's had three different rooms in Alexandria and they have all looked the same; just white blank spaces for people to move in and out of, completely interchangeable from one occupant to the next. Any personal touches there weren't her own. She's never bothered to do anything to them, to make them feel more like hers. She's learned there's not much point in trying to settle down during the Apocalypse.

"You okay?" Tara asks from her bed, apparently not able to sleep any better than she has.

"I'm fine," Rosita answers, moreso due to habit than any truth. "Why?"

Tara takes a moment to reply. "You've just been quiet," she explains, and she's not wrong. "Like more than usual."

There's nothing _wron_ g, really, at least nothing pressing or that she particularly feels like talking about. Rosita just feels weird and unsettled here, out of place, in a different way than she normally does. "It's just… It's nothing," she brushes off, and she really appreciates Tara in that moment; for knowing her well enough to ask in the first place, and to not push when she doesn't get the answer she wants. It's enough for her to ask a question of her own, half to change the subject, half because she can't figure it out herself. "So you and Cyndie, is that like… a thing?"

"A _thing_?" is echoed, in a voice laced with confusion. "You mean like…?"

"I mean, did she think I was competition or-?"

"Oh, no! No, no, she's just a kid," Tara rushes to answer and Rosita feels like a moron for not really noticing how young Cyndie is. "She, like, made me a BFF bracelet and everything, no. She just saved me a couple times. Or, a lot of times, really, so we kinda have a thing. Not a _thing_ thing, we're just… bros."

Rosita nods even though Tara can't see her, and has a little less trouble falling asleep.

 

 

"Don't wait so long to give us an update next time," Cyndie makes Tara promise before they leave the next morning.

Tara nods and pulls her into a tight hug, but Rosita doesn't notice its length this time. "I promise."

"I better see you again," the younger girl says softly, worried. Rosita can't blame her; every goodbye has the potential to be the last one these days.

"You will," Tara promises even though she shouldn't, and holds up her fist with a smile.

 

 

The journey home doesn't go quite as smoothly as the one there.

It starts with one walker, and then two, and then there's too many for them to handle on their own without drawing even more in with gunfire. So, they run.

They're running and then Tara trips, and Rosita's just barely able to get back to her in time to kill the three walkers surrounding her.

She swiftly stabs the last one through the back of the head and pushes it to the side. " _Come on_ ," she hisses as she frantically pulls Tara back to her feet and drags her away from the approaching herd.

There's a familiar heavy feeling in her gut, and it's been so long since she's felt it that it takes Rosita a few seconds to identify it as fear.

"Over there!" she barely hears Tara yell before she's the one getting dragged.

Rosita stumbles a bit at the change in direction, but doesn't take more than a few steps to recover before she's matching Tara's pace and running with her towards the small abandoned cabin a couple hundred feet away.

Tara reaches the door first and audibly thanks God when she finds it unlocked. "In, in, get in!" Rosita rushes her, backs together as she keeps an eye on the group of walkers heading their way until Tara finally gets the door open and they fall inside.

They slam the door closed and lock it behind them, immediately looking around for anything they can use to reinforce it even more. They push a large oak bookshelf over until it's settled in front of the door, getting it in place just as it sounds like the walkers have reached them.

Confident their barricade will hold, Tara and Rosita split up and check the small house for any other possible entry points to worry about. A quick search finds that there are no other doors and all the windows on the main floor have already been boarded up.

"Someone was living here," Tara concludes, pressing her hand against the wood to test its strength. It doesn't give, and that's enough for them.

Rosita nods and drops her backpack to the floor. "Let's hope they're not anymore."

They're gonna be there for a while.

 

 

"How long do you think we'll be stuck in here?"

Tara looks out the second story bedroom window, keeping an eye on the walkers gathered around the front. It's been two hours, and while some had wandered off, the herd hadn't thinned out as much as they'd hoped.

"Hopefully not overnight," Rosita answers from the bed, where she's sitting crossed legged and sorting through the food supplies they'd packed. It's not looking great, even with the extra stuff Cyndie had insisted on giving them. "This isn't gonna last much more than two or three days between the both of us."

Tara sighs and moves away from the window to plop down on the huge bed across from her. "Fingers crossed they see something shiny and fuck off soon so we can go home then."

" _Home_ ," Rosita echoes before she can stop herself, the word sounding strange on her tongue. She shakes her head. "That still sounds so weird after all this time." She risks a glance up at Tara and finds her questioning stare. "Or is it just me?"

"No, I get it," she's immediately assured, but she's not sure she buys it. Tara seems to be considering her words carefully before she elaborates. "It _has_ been weird, to settle somewhere again. But, Alexandria's just a _place._ " There's that nauseatingly earnest tone. "Not to sound too much like a Disney cartoon character, but in this world, home is where your people are, y'know?"

Rosita does know that, objectively, but she doesn't quite understand it. She can tell the others feel it, and there are moments she thinks she might, too, but then…

"Do you ever feel like you're still on the outside?" she blurts out before fully processing the question; one that's been on the tip of her tongue for a while. "Like you're part of the group, but not really part of the family?" Tara's face doesn't scream understanding, but there's no judgment either, so she continues. "Remember right after we got out of Terminus, and we all found Carol, Judith and Tyreese in the woods? It was this big happy reunion between all of them and we were just standing to the side like pricks, no clue who these people were." She diverts her gaze and picks idly at the comforter underneath her. "Sometimes it still feels like that."

Tara takes too long to reply and Rosita can feel her eyes studying her. "I don't know," she finally says softly, like speaking too loudly will make Rosita clam up again, and maybe it will. "Sometimes, I guess?"

"It wasn't as bad when Abraham was still here," she admits after a moment of hesitation. "Or fuck, even Eugene. They were my people first, right? You go to a party where you don't really know anyone that well, but that doesn't really matter if you go with your friends and hang out with _them_ all night. But now they're both gone and it's just me, and sometimes I just…" Rosita trails off, unsure. She can't find the right words to articulate how she's feeling, and Tara's gaze makes her feel like she's shrinking. "I don't know what I'm saying."

"No, no, I get it," Tara is quick to assure her again, and this time Rosita believes it a little bit more. "Glenn was kind of that for me, like my person." She nods, because that sounds about right. "But, actually, I kinda always thought of you as one of my OG people, too. Like our little group within the group."

Rosita scoffs and grabs a protein bar to manhandle to give her hands something to do. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Uh, have you already forgotten about GREATM?" Tara scoffs right back in faux offensive. "You think I have awesome acronyms with just anyone? I met you guys like maybe three hours after I met Glenn."

"You _were_ the first one of the group we met." She'd never really thought about that.

"I wasn't really part of the group yet either, so we kinda joined at the same time," Tara reminds her gently, pointedly, and Rosita catches her obvious drift. "Don't think you don't have anyone left, because you do. Okay?" Tara ducks her head to try to catch Rosita's gaze and isn't happy until she gets a nod. When she finally does, she beams at her friend and holds out her fist. "RT, remember?"

Rosita pretends to be put out while bumping her fist with her own. "I thought we settled on TR?"

"Oh no, gorgeous," Tara sing-songs as she lies back on the bed. "I always make sure a pretty lady comes first."

Rosita would've snort-laughed if that was a thing she'd ever do.

 

 

It's not until hours later, when they're using the food to graph a ridiculous escape attempt, that they hear the gunshots. It's not a lot, maybe four or five big bangs in a rather quick succession, but it's gotta be enough to draw most, if not all, of the walkers away from the front door. They have no idea who fired the shots or why, but they can worry about that later, or not at all. For now, they need to seize the opportunity and fast.

They share a look before they both start quickly shoving everything back into their packs. "It's now or never," Tara voices for both of them as she shoulders her bag and heads for the door, waiting there when she sees Rosita needs a little more time.

She stops to stare at the bright multi-colored cat figurines lining the dresser of the bedroom, and she feels something stir. She noticed them when they first walked in because they reminded her of similar ones her abuela used to collect. Not giving it a second thought, Rosita uses her arm to sweep the lot of them off the edge and into her bag before she swings it around her back to slip on.

She turns around to find Tara watching her and she gives her a shrug. "Figure they'll look good in my room," is all she says, before she brushes past her and heads out towards the stairs to start their getaway home, Tara on her heels.

 

**iii.**

 

Things change after that.

(Or maybe they were already changing, and Rosita just finally catches up.)

It's not any huge shift, really, there's no big moment of realization; it's just little things here and there, piling up so high that Rosita can't miss them anymore.

Like, they stand closer now. They're not ontop of each other or anything, but their arms always seem to be touching, and the fact that Rosita even notices their proximity at all now is another thing to be noted.

They talk, a lot. And not just about Negan or the future, but about the past. Tara tells Rosita all about her sister and her niece; how Lily's horrible taste in men started the chain events that led her to joining their group. Rosita tells Tara about her own brother and nephew, and her hardass but loving abuela who raised them. They talk about Glenn, and Abraham and Denise. Sasha.

They hug. She's a hugger now. Not for no reason, but always when they part ways for any length of time. Just in case. They never know.

Not unrelated, but Rosita thinks about Tara dying lately; worries about it. And she thinks about herself dying, and she worries about that, too. It's good and bad, a true double edged sword. It's easier not to give a fuck, but in the end it's better to care, she thinks, but that changes with the days.

Maybe none of that should mean much of anything; maybe it just feels different because she's different. Maybe this is just what having a real friend feels like when the world's over. And Tara is a real friend, probably the best friend Rosita's had since… ever, most likely, but it's more than that. Lately, she's becoming so very keenly aware of how much more.

It's not like she didn't already know Tara has had a thing for her from the start. One thing Rosita never needed a guy to teach her was how to tell when someone was into her and Tara's never been one for subtly. Not to mention Abraham wouldn't shut the fuck up about it for like a week when he first figured it out.

It had always just been a thing that _was_ , something she never felt one way or another about. Tara thinking she was hot was no different to her than Eugene thinking she was hot. Everyone thinks she's hot, because she is.

Now, though, after everything, she's starting to feel some type of way about it. She's just yet to figure out what exactly that way is.

 

 

Rosita doesn't try to ignore it, per say, she just tries not to think about it, especially that weird feeling in the pit of her stomach that she's pretending not to recognize. But it's hard.

She's not unpracticed in the art of avoiding and/or suppressing feelings, but something about Tara is making it impossible. It probably doesn't help that they live together and unintentionally find themselves being disgustingly domestic on a semi regular basis, but still; she mostly blames Tara.

"You are fucking awful at that," Rosita scolds her one night when she finally gives in and lets Tara try to help her make dinner after weeks of pestering. "How can somebody be bad at _stirring_?"

Tara pretends to be offended, but doesn't fight Rosita when she takes the large utensil from her. "I didn't realize there was a right or wrong way to _stir_."

"Amateur," Rosita mumbles under her breath as she takes over, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she starts slowly stirring the wooden spoon with practiced ease. "See, it's like _this_." She's so distracted by her task that it takes her a few moments to feel Tara's gaze burning a hole in the side of her face, but then it heats up all at once. "What?"

"Nothing," Tara says with a lopsided grin and a soft shake of her head. "You're just cute when you get all serious about ridiculous things."

It's not really any different than any of Tara's other casually flirty comments and she pokes her playfully in the side as she moves away from the stove to let her work in peace, but Rosita still finds she needs a minute to recover.

Like she said: Tara's impossible.

 

 

While Rosita struggles to make sense of the internal battle being waged in her head and her chest, she almost forgets about the actual war brewing around them.

In her defense, things have been fairly quiet on that front for going on three weeks now, while Rick, Maggie, Ezekiel and the few others with top security clearance figure out their best course of action.

It wasn't long ago at all that Rosita would've knocked anyone out for trying to keep her out of those discussions, but somewhere along the way it stopped taking up her every waking thought. She's still a damn good soldier that's more than ready to rush into battle the second Rick gives the word, but she's finally realizing that's not all she is. And hopefully, that's not all that awaits her either.

She doesn't even argue when Rick tells her he wants her to stay in Alexandria while they hit a Savior outpost. Rosita just nods and sits beside Tara on their porch steps to watch everyone getting ready and gathering their weapons.

She vaguely listens as Tara switches between talking to Aaron on her other side and Judith in her lap, but it isn't until she feels an elbow in her side that she realizes she must have zoned out. "We need an outsider's opinion; do you think Jesus is into Daryl?"

"What?" It takes a second for the question to sink in and she follows their gazes over to where Daryl seems to be showing Jesus how his crossbow works. "Oh. I don't know."

Her non-answer doesn't seem to faze Tara or Aaron much. "Poor kid, crushing on you straight people is the worst."

"But _is_ he straight?" Aaron challenges.

"Ah, you make a fair point," Tara replies sagely, as if they're in some kind of meaningful debate. "I don't know, I always just kinda thought Daryl wasn't into either." There's a moment of silence, and apparently Rosita's missed the conversational baton once again. "Hey, you okay?" Tara gently shakes her elbow instead of nudging her this time. "You're doing that quiet thing again. You got a thing for Daryl, too?"

Anyone else would've come off sounding jealous considering the circumstances, but Rosita can tell Tara is just teasing, so she smiles back at the irony. "Caught me."

Tara leans into her side and bumps their shoulders gently. "I'm sure they're gonna be fine," she assures her, even though that's not what's on Rosita's mind at all. "But if you wanna go, just ask Rick again, I doubt he'd fight you. Your shoulder's fine now and you don't have to stay here just because I'm on babysitting duty."

"It's not that, I…" Rosita starts, but trails off when she realizes she wouldn't know how to finish that sentence even if she wanted to. She can't articulate her thoughts for shit these days; she just knows she's fine being wherever Tara is now. "Somebody's gotta keep home base locked down. Watch out for you hooligans."

Aaron smiles and buys it, but Tara looks less convinced. As always, she knows not to push it, though. Instead she just takes Judith's little hands and puts them over her heart, and swoons in her best baby voice, "Our hero."

 

 

The group comes back victorious early the next morning. Well, they all come back alive, at least, and Rosita considers that a victory these days.

Dwight came through for them again, and while Tara has mixed feelings on that, Rosita is just relieved and a little bit hopeful. If someone as far up Negan's ass as Dwight was can see the light, maybe Eugene isn't a lost cause after all.

Maybe nobody is ever too far gone to turn back.

 

 

Days go by and Rosita's feelings get harder to ignore, but she's learning to deal. Nothing good ever comes from ignoring things, in the old world or the new, so she kind of just accepts that they're there. She can't control how she feels, only what she does.

But even then, she can't control her dreams.

For the first time in as long as she can remember, Rosita dreams of the living instead of the dead. She dreams of Tara; being with her, against her, under her, inside her, wrapped all around her.

It's snapshots of a life together, blurred around the edges, scenes moving too fast for her to get a firm grip on any for too long. But they're _good_ , Rosita can feel that. It's warm, and welcoming and _home._

"Are you happy here?" a version of Tara asks her in a scene that finally stays.

Hands cradle her neck and thumbs brush her jaw, and she is. She has no context for this moment or this timeline, Rosita just knows what she feels, for once. " _Yes_."

Then, a knock at some metaphorical door. Three knocks, actually. They sound heavy and ominous, like a bat against wood, or maybe a skull, and Rosita looks away from Tara for just a second, but that's all it takes. Tara slips away from under her, slowly, yet somehow still too fast for her to save, no matter how desperately she tries to cling to her hands as she disappears.

Rosita jolts awake in a cold sweat just as the door is kicked in, visions of barbed wire and black leather burning away as she opens her eyes to the morning sun.

 

 

Rosita's supposed to be guarding the wall when Carl asks if she wants to come with him to visit Hilltop. It strikes her as odd at first, that he'd ask her of all people when she has nobody there to see, but then again, maybe she does.

Father Gabriel volunteers to take her shift. "Can you let Tara know where I am if she comes looking for me?" she asks him as she hands him the sniper rifle, exchanging it for a smaller hand gun to bring with her.

"We'll be back by dinner," Carl promises them both as the steel door is slid open for them to slip through. They wait to make sure it gets closed and locked behind them before they leave.

 

 

Rosita isn't sure she's ever had a one-on-one conversation with Carl before, but the walk to Hilltop doesn't feel as awkward as it could be, considering.

They walk in silence, mostly, but it's not uncomfortable, and Rosita doesn't feel like she's breaking any kind pact when she finally speaks up about half way there. "I'm sorry I missed," she says simply, knowing she doesn't need to elaborate. Maybe she should be sorry to taking the shot at all, but she can't bring herself to be.

Carl doesn't break his stride as he spares her a glance, looking at her from under the brim of his old hat. He nods his head. "I'm sorry I missed, too," he replies easily, then looks hesitant to continue. After a few moments of quiet, he does. "Are you still… Do you still want to kill him?"

"Of course I do, but…" It's just not the only thing she wants anymore. "But I get that I can't do it alone." Carl kicks at the dirt and Rosita knows he gets it. They fall into comfortable silence again, until she can't help but ask; "So, what's up with you and Enid?"

Carl lets out a combination of a scoff and a laugh and dips his head, letting the question fluster him for just a moment before he turns the tables. "So, what's up with you and Tara?" he shoots back in a mocking tone.

Rosita misses a step in her surprise, and shoves the boy in his shoulder. "Mind your own business, kid."

 

 

Maggie greets Rosita with a hug while Enid greets Carl with a little something more, and she fiddles with her necklace when she points her in the direction of the graves.

"His is the one with the balloons on it," Maggie tells her with a gentle smile, rubbing Rosita's arm in comfort before leaving her alone and following the teens towards the big house on the hill.

Rosita watches them retreat, stalling for just a bit longer before she finally takes a deep breath and wanders over to where Maggie directed her to. She's surprised to find three graves where she expected there to only be two, but she doesn't know why; _of course_ Maggie would make sure Sasha got the burial she deserved.

Her steps slow as she gets closer, her eyes drifting over the raised dirt. Glenn's is first, marked with the watch she knows was his. Then it's Abraham in the middle, a few sad deflated green balloons hanging by his grave marker. She allows herself to wonder why for just a moment before she pushes the thought away, respecting whatever meaning they hold; it's okay that she doesn't know everything about him. Sasha's is the closest and the freshest, an old jacket of hers folded neatly on top.

Rosita doesn't know where to begin, or what to say. She's only ever done this once; when her abuela died, before the world went completely to shit. For the longest time, she had been the only person she'd known that died; now she knows more dead people than living ones.

"I'm sorry," she finally says, figuring that's a good place to start. Rosita crouches down in front of Abraham's grave, idly running her fingers over the dirt. "I'm sorry I resented you so much, and held onto you for so long."

Her eyes drift to the grave next to his, and she's really glad they're together. "But I'm happy you were happy, before the end." Her lips curl upright, her eyes get misty and she thinks of Tara. "I get it now."

There's so much more Rosita could say to him, but she thinks that's enough. Abraham never was one for too many words, at least not with her, and she thinks he'd appreciate her brevity.

With Sasha, it's the opposite. She wants to say something, but she can't find the words. They barely knew each other, but it still feels like they went through hell together, and Rosita came back alone.

"Thank you," is what it really boils down to. "For everything, for…" Rosita can't even begin to fully comprehend all that she owes to Sasha. " _Everything_."

She stays with them for a bit longer, just to keep them company, until she's sure it's enough. She brushes the makeshift cross at the head of Abraham's grave with the tips of her finger before she stands up again, her gaze drifting over to where she knows Glenn is buried.

"Tara misses you," she says on a whim, and for some reason she finds words come easier with him. "I do, too." They weren't particularly close, but Rosita had always admired him; he cared about everyone so much. He was a lot like Tara that way. "I promise I'll look out for her for you."

With one last look at her friends, Rosita gives them a final nod and leaves them behind.

 

 

Not only do Carl and Rosita make it back to Alexandria in time for dinner, but she's surprised to find it's already cooking when she walks through the door.

"Tara?" she calls out hesitantly, trying to figure out if someone else is in their house or if she had somehow walked into someone else's by accident.

"In the kitchen!" she hears, and she relaxes a bit when her friend doesn't sound distressed. That's a good sign. "Don't come in!" That's a lot less reassuring, but just as Rosita's about to go in anyways, the door swings open and Tara comes bursting out.

"Whoa, where's the fire?" Rosita asks rhetorically, after just managing to avoid getting hit by the door. Tara's giving her a weird smile and she looks over her shoulder at the still swinging kitchen door. "Oh god, where's the fire?"

"No fire," she's immediately assured, but she's still got that weird smile, so Rosita's undecided if she buys it. "I just… How was Maggie? Is she showing yet?"

Rosita squints at her obvious attempt to deflect. "Maggie's fine, and as skinny as ever," she answers. "You came looking for me then?"

"Not quite," Tara replies, hunching her shoulders a bit. "I _maybe_ , might have asked Carl to keep you away today, because I have a surprise!" Rosita narrows her eyes further before just pushing past her friend and into the kitchen. It doesn't look like the disaster area she was expecting, but the evidence of whatever Tara had made is still all over. "I made lasagna."

Her gaze drifts to the oven, and suddenly the smell of it overwhelms her, and she feels like she's been transported back in time to her abuela's kitchen. " _You_ made lasagna?"

"Okay, Carol helped," Tara admits with a sheepish smile. "But she mostly just gave me the recipe. And supervised."

Rosita can't help but grin at how cutely proud Tara looks. "Why?"

"For your birthday," she explains with barely contained glee.

"For my- _what_?"

"Happy birthday!" Tara exclaims, smiling wider than Rosita can ever remember seeing.

It's impossible for her to stop her own smile from widening just a little bit more at her excitement. "I'm gonna need a little bit more here, Tara."

"Right, sorry, okay," she mumbles, nodding towards a chair and waiting until Rosita is seated before she continues. "Well, when you mentioned when your birthday was the other week, I felt like that might be pretty close. So, I checked that calendar Deanna was using, the one in her house? And well, it's today." She's talking fast and with her hands, and it's really fucking cute. "Give or a take a couple of days, probably, but I went with it." She looks towards the stove, where dinner is almost ready. "And I- _we_ , did lasagna because I remembered you saying how much you loved your grandma's, when we had it at Oceanside. I'm sure it won't be half as good as hers was, but…"

Tara shrugs like she isn't the sweetest person in the entire world, and Rosita doesn't know what to say. There just aren't words.

"You..." The word sounds wet, and maybe that's why it catches in her throat. She takes her hat off so she can see Tara better. "You are really something else."

Tara's smile turns bashful, and Rosita's never wanted to kiss her more.

 

 

Rosita heads up for a quick shower while Tara finishes getting dinner ready, and she tries her very best not to think about Tara or the fluttering in her stomach or any other particular tingling she feels anywhere else on her body. Tara is sweet and cute and thoughtful and funny, and Rosita wants to, but she _can't_.

The smell hits her like a wave of nostalgia the second she walks out of the bathroom, and she maybe wants to cry just a little bit when she looks at the cat figurines lining her dresser as she pulls out her clean clothes. Today has just been too much, and it's not even over yet.

 

 

Dinner is good, maybe even great, if she compares it to Tara's past adventures in cooking, but she's admittedly emotionally compromised right now, so her judgment is a bit impaired. She just knows it leaves her feeling all kinds of warm as she settles in deep on the couch afterwards, wanting for nothing but Tara to join her.

Tara sits down beside her and Rosita falls into her side, her head finding her shoulder. She feels like she's tipsy, even though she hasn't had a drop of alcohol, and maybe this is just what happiness feels like. Or, maybe that swelling in her chest is something else she's not ready to put a name to.

They just sit with each other for a little while, until Rosita notices something on the floor in front of the television that never gets used. "Is that a laptop?"

"Oh yeah," she hears Tara chuckle to herself. "I almost forgot." She leans forward and Rosita watches her blindly search under the couch with a confused pout. "It's under here some- Ah, got it!" She comes back up with a familiar DVD case in her hand and that proud grin on her face again.

"Did you seriously find me a copy of When Harry Met Sally in the Apocalypse?"

Tara gives a smug shrug, if that's possible to do. "I only had to knock on like thirty-eight doors before I found it." She hands the case over to be inspected. "People really have no respect for the classics around here. But you said it was your favorite growing up, so."

It had been, even before she was old enough to understand half of it. Rosita used to force her older brother to watch it with her every other weekend, even though he hated every second of it. "I can't believe you remembered that." She had only said it in passing one night when they were sharing stories about their siblings.

"Of course I did," Tara says like it's nothing, and to her it probably is. She's the kind of person that never has to try to be this sweet and kind, she just is without even trying.

She's the complete opposite of every guy Rosita's ever been drawn to, but her abuela always did say the world would probably end before she ever gave a nice guy a chance.

And Tara's not just nice, she's the nicest. But she's not a doormat. She's kindhearted and loyal and optimistic, but she's not naïve and she doesn't need to be protected. She's a girl that doesn't want to take from others for herself, but probably would for her friends. She gives and cares and listens.

Tara sees her. Rosita's so used to being looked at that she's forgotten what it's like to be seen. Tara sees her and she cares - she _more than cares_ ; she can feel it in everything she says and does, and Rosita wants to know what that kind of love tastes like.

She leans in before she can stop herself, and hovers a breath away just long enough for Tara to stop her if she wants to, but she doesn't; she closes the gap.

They kiss and it's almost familiar, like wanting it and dreaming it is the same as already having done it. Tara's lips are chapped but soft like she knew they would be; her tongue more aggressive than it is in her dreams. Fingers thread through her hair and cup the back of her head to pull her closer, and Rosita wants more, of all of it.

She pushes Tara back against the couch, or maybe Tara pulls her down, but she settles between her legs either way. Rosita's sure she can feel both their heartbeats in her chest as she melts into the body beneath her; kissing, licking, biting.

She swears she can feel Tara's hands all over her, burning a map onto her skin. First they're in her hair, and then cupping her jaw; then moving down to ghost over her ribs before settling at the small of her back, her fingers curling at the hem of her top as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth.

Rosita moans into her mouth, and manages to keep her thoughts at bay just long enough to get her shirt off before everything starts to blur all at once. She doesn't know how much time passes before her mind starts to tilt and her vision gets hazy; she just knows when it does, it's not from the eager lips leaving open mouthed kisses against her throat.

There's a low buzzing in her ears as all her thoughts and fears slowly start to leak in; as all her dreams and nightmares filter passed her eyes like a film being skipped through.

She tries ignoring them, to push them away again so she can at least have this one moment. Tara's fingers are brushing up her bare back, tracing the curve of her spine and then threading around the back of her neck and settling. She holds her head in place and makes her look at her, forces her to see what she's already dreamt.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," Tara says breathlessly through a smile, but all Rosita hears is ' _Are you happy here?'_ She tries again to block it out as Tara brings her back into a hungry kiss. She tries to focus on the feeling of warm lips against hers, on soft hands on her face, socked feet trailing up her calves, but the static in her head is just getting louder and louder until the forgotten DVD case tumbles to the carpeted floor and the tiny _thud_ it makes echoes more like a _knock knock knock_ in her mind.

"I can't," Rosita finally mumbles into the kiss, her forced words swallowed. She says it again, pulling away only for Tara to follow. "Tara, I can't, this isn't a good idea."

Tara shakes her head. "No, no, it's okay," she says as she tries to keep kissing her; her voice is desperate and her eyes are the same. She doesn't understand. "It's okay. It can just be this. I'll just take this, that's enough. It's okay."

"That's not- I can't," Rosita tries to say, tries to explain everything raging inside of her. She tries not to look at Tara, at her swollen lips and messy hair. She tries a lot of things, and fails at all of them; it's nothing new. "I just can't do this," is what it comes down to. She shakes the other woman's hands off and stands on wobbly legs.

"Rosita…"

"I'm sorry," she mumbles as she slips on her shirt and stumbles her way towards the stairs, disappearing before Tara can.

 

 

Rosita doesn't dream of anything that night, but only because she doesn't sleep at all. Instead, she's kept up with thoughts of what a colossal fuck up she is.

That wasn't supposed to happen, ever. She wasn't supposed to let it. She had spent a great deal of time and energy and will power on making sure that exact thing never happened. But Tara is just always so… _Tara_ and she makes it really fucking hard. Impossible, actually.

But it'd be harder if she wasn't Tara; if she wasn't anything. Everything would be harder without Tara, and that's why that wasn't supposed to happen, and why it won't happen again.

Rosita just can't do that again; kiss her or have her, or love her and lose her.

She just… can't do that again. She wouldn't survive it.

 

 

She makes sure to leave early the next morning.

She forgoes a shower and grabs something quick for breakfast, practically flinching when she spots the leftover lasagna sitting in the fridge when she gets a drink.

Rosita shakes her head and turns to leave, but pauses at the door. "Don't be an ungrateful dick," she says to herself, turning back around to scribble a note thanking Tara for her birthday surprises before slipping out the door.

 

 

She relieves Francine of tower duty for the day and takes over her post with Eric and Tobin.

Nothing happens, and it's boring as shit, but Rosita doesn't mind; anything to get her away from that house and that girl and the feelings that threaten to suffocate her every second she's around either lately.

Tara comes by in a car with Daryl, Aaron and Carol around mid-day, the four of them apparently heading out to meet up with Morgan and a few other people from the Kingdom to pick up a new load of weapons.

"You wanna come with?" Daryl yells up to her from the driver's seat of the car. "Got room for one more."

Of course Rosita _wants_ to go. She's made a conscious effort lately to make sure she and Tara always go or don't go on missions together, but those missions didn't involve being stuck in a car with Tara the day after she made out with her, so. Probably best she makes an exception this once.

"I'm good here," she answers back as she pointedly looks anywhere but at Tara in the backseat. "I already skipped out yesterday."

"Suit yourself," Daryl mumbles and flicks his cigarette out the window.

Rosita can feel Tara staring at her the entire time they're stopped and she's tempted to look back. She almost gives in, but then Eric leans into the passenger side window to kiss Aaron goodbye and make him promise to stay safe, and it reminds her why she can't.

 

 

Carl comes to replace her about an hour later, and as much as Rosita wants to stay until the group comes back, she's dead tired and completely useless, so she hands the teen her rifle and heads back home.

She reheats some of the leftovers for dinner and eats it alone at the kitchen table like a loser before heading up to her room early to try to crash.

But of course she doesn't get a second of sleep until she hears Tara come home safe and sound around midnight.

 

 

Rosita's plans to sneak out early and avoid Tara again are sabotaged by her unreliable alarm clock. She wakes up and can immediately hear movement downstairs and knows she's fucked.

She showers and gets dressed after stalling for as long as she can, and then cautiously makes her way down the stairs. The tiny bit of hope she had of being able to escape out the door while Tara is in the kitchen are dashed when she spots her in the living room already, sitting on the scene of the crime.

"Fuck," she hisses under her breath, eyes still looking for a possible escape route.

"There's coffee in there," Tara says without even looking back at her. She sounds normal, and Rosita tries to figure out how this is a trap.

She just nods even though Tara won't see it and disappears into the kitchen to get a cup and something to eat. She eats her bagel as slowly as she possibly can, until she can't put this off any longer and she slinks back into the living room to meet her fate.

Rosita feels Tara watching her as she tries to decide where to sit or stand, before she finally just settles for propping herself awkwardly on the arm of a chair with what's left of her coffee in her hands.

"I'm sorry about the other night," Tara suddenly starts before she's even settled, and Rosita's so surprised and confused it almost chases away the tension.

" _What?_ " Tara has nothing to apologize for, other than being too fucking sweet to resist.

Tara dips her head and it might be the first time Rosita's seen her look embarrassed. "I'm sorry I made it weird, I knew it wasn't…" She's struggling to find the words and still won't look at her. "I didn't mean to try to make it more than it was," she finally settles on, risking a glance up. "I know for you it was probably just… It didn't mean any-"

"How about we just forget it ever happened?" Rosita abruptly cuts her off, knowing where this is going and not being able to stand hearing it. Tara's wrong, and it's easier this way, but she can't bring herself to hear the lie.

Tara's head snaps up and Rosita can't tell the difference between relief and disappointment. "Okay," is all she says after a moment and Rosita wishes she wasn't such a coward.

 

 

If the purpose of their talk had been to make things less awkward between them going forward, it failed spectacularly.

While Rosita does stop actively trying to avoid Tara, it only takes a couple run-ins with her for her to start seriously reconsidering that option. Gone are the hugs and the jokes and the harmless flirting; now it's just stiff greetings and small talk that feels like pulling teeth.

Rosita hadn't realized how accustomed she'd grown to her dynamic with Tara, and she hates every second of this.

But at least this is a loss she can bear.

 

**iv.**

 

Despite her history of dating the biggest assholes she could find, there has always been a little part of Rosita that bought into the whole fantasy of falling in love with her best friend. Now that it's actually happened though, she's starting to think all those movies were bullshit.

So far, there's been nothing fun about being in love with Tara; just pain, frustration, and a whole lot of awkwardness. And the worst part is that she doesn't even have anyone she can talk to about it because Tara is the only person she'd ever feel comfortable talking about it with.

Still, it's been days of this tip toeing around each other nonsense and Rosita is really fucking over it. This was supposed to be easier, so why is it so damn hard?

Rosita's about a minute away from going to find Father Gabriel and unloading on him when Michonne finds her.

"You wanna get out of here?" she asks as she stops in front of where Rosita's seated on their porch steps. "Do a sweep around with me?"

Rosita glances back at the house Tara's currently hiding inside. "God yes."

 

 

"How are you doing?" Michonne asks a little while into their walk, her sword out but not drawn. "You seem like you've been doing better lately. You were a little… gone for a while there."

"Yeah, I guess I was," Rosita acknowledges, a little bit surprised Michonne cared or even noticed. Not that she would have blamed her; everyone was working through their own shit at the time. "But I kinda found my way back."

"That's good," Michonne says with a kind smile and sounds like she genuinely means it.

They aren't close, but they've talked about real shit before, and Rosita's always respected the hell out of her; she's as good a person as any to talk to. She can't suffer in silence with this any longer.

"Can I ask you something?" She tries to sound casual and she's not sure she does, but Michonne doesn't stop dramatically or look at her any differently or anything, so she can't be too transparent. "Did you… lose anyone? Before Rick, I mean?"

Michonne's back straightens a bit when she hears the question, but other than that, she does an excellent job concealing her reaction. Rosita tries not to stare at her as she waits for her answer, and instead keeps her eyes peeled on their surroundings, giving her companion as much time as she needs.

"I've lost people," she confirms finally, conflict and pain both clear in her voice. She breathes deep and maybe blinks away some tears. "There was someone before Rick. It was… complicated in the end, I still don't know how I feel about it, about _him_ , even now. But, I loved him before, and I still felt that loss."

That certainly sounds familiar to Rosita, and she tries to find the best way to word her next question without giving too much of herself away. "Was it…" she starts and then stops, reconsiders. "Weren't you scared, to go through all that again with Rick?"

"Of course," Michonne admits, sounding more at ease with this direction of the conversation. "Love is always scary, especially now, but acting on it or not doesn't stop us from feeling it. I loved Rick before we were together, and I'm sure you loved Abraham after you were together, too." It's not a question, really, but she's looking at her like it is, and Rosita gives the briefest of nods to confirm Michonne's assumption. "That loss hurts all the same either way."

The words land heavy on Rosita's chest, and she knows them to be all too painfully true. She kicks at the damp grass beneath her feet petulantly. "Caring sucks," she decides. "It was so much easier when I didn't give a shit."

Michonne laughs, but it sounds kind of sad. "Believe me, I know it is," she agrees. "I was where you were, after I lost Mike and An-" She snaps her jaw shut before the rest of the word ( _name?_ ) can fall out, and Rosita waits for her to shake it off. "I was gone, just like you. But then a friend pulled me back."

"And Rick and Carl and Judith," Rosita finishes for her, and of course she thinks of Tara first, but there's Sasha, too.

Michonne nods and considers her words. "It _is_ easier to live when we don't care about anything or anyone," she admits, and Rosita feels that truth in her bones. "But then what are we even living _for_?"

She knows she's right, but it just makes her wish she'd gone to find Father Gabriel instead.

 

 

Fortunately for Rosita, she doesn't have much time to dwell on Michonne's advice because Dwight comes through with something big, and it's a cold reminder of how quickly things can change these days.

By the time they get back to Alexandria, they find Rick and Daryl are already rounding up the troops to head over to the Kingdom, where Negan is apparently planning a surprise attack at an unknown time the next day. He kept going back and forth on when, and Dwight didn't want to wait any longer to warn them.

"Already sent a runner over to give 'em a heads up," Daryl grunts as he passes along a bunch of guns to be loaded into the back of a truck. Probably guns they had just picked up from the Kingdom a few days ago.

"What do you need us to do?" Michonne is already all business, any hint of her earlier vulnerability lost behind a mask, and Rosita spares a moment to envy that ability.

Daryl nods towards where Rick's standing a few feet away, calmly handing out orders to everyone around him. From what Rosita can tell, he's letting everyone help get ready, but telling half of them they need to stay behind.

"I want in," she tells him through gritted teeth, pushing through the crowd and getting right to the point. "I got taken out early the first time, and you made me sit out last time, so I want in now."

Rick looks passed her to have a silent conversation with Michonne, like they're her parents trying to agree on whether or not to let her go to the movies or something. It makes Rosita feel about a foot tall, but Rick ends up nodding in agreement, so she doesn't throw a fit about it.

 

 

After collecting all the weapons they'll need and choosing the volunteers they wanted, from Alexandria and Hilltop, it's decided they'll head out bright and early the next morning to stake out the surrounding area and wait for the Saviors to attack. It's going to be a long but big day, and hopefully with this upper hand, a really fucking good one.

Rosita's in her room getting ready after another night of no sleep when Tara finds her.

"Don't go," she begs from the doorway, and it's the first thing she's said to her in almost two days.

Rosita grabs her hat and secures it on her head, barely sparing Tara a glance. She doesn't have the time or headspace to be weird around her right now. "What?"

"To the Kingdom," Tara elaborates, though it isn't really needed. She pushes off the door frame and moves into the room with determined strides. "Don't go. I know how badly you want to fight them, and how long you've waited, but please don't go."

Rosita sighs, but doesn't shake off the hands gripping her arms to keep her from walking away. "Tara…"

"Stay." Tara's voice is strong, but shaky, and she hasn't seen her this scared since that day in the infirmary. " _Please_. I just have a really bad feeling about this."

 _Of course you do_ , Rosita wants to say, wants to acknowledge, finally. But she doesn't. Now isn't the time. "It's gonna to be fine," she says instead, but she can't look Tara in the eyes. "I have to do this."

"Then I'm coming with you," she decides immediately, trying to sound brave, even though she doesn't need to try.

Rosita shakes her head and gently pulls her arms out of Tara's grip. "No, you stay here," she tells her, and feels like a hypocrite. "Rick needs you and Carl to hold down the fort."

"Rosita, please…"

"I'm going," she says as she grabs her backpack from the bed and slips it on. "I'm sorry."

Tara bites her lip and looks like she wants to cry, but finally accepts Rosita's decision with a small nod. They stand there for a moment, neither knowing what to say, until Tara suddenly takes a step forward and wraps her arms tightly around Rosita's shoulders in a hug.

"I love you," Tara whispers, and it travels all the way down her spine. "I know we're not supposed to talk about it, and I know you already know, but I just wanted to say it."

Rosita squeezes her eyes shut tightly to hold in her tears and hugs her back. This is why Tara doesn't have to try to be brave; she's already the bravest person Rosita knows.

"I'll be back," is all she says in return, even though she knows exactly how this played out for Tara last time. Has she mentioned she's a coward? "I promise."

Still, it seems to be enough for Tara, and she lets her go.

 

 

Rosita tries not to think about what Tara said to her before she left, but it's really hard not to when she's got nothing else to occupy her thoughts.

As planned, the group arrived at the Kingdom bright and early, and scattered into groups to cover the entire perimeter. That was almost four hours ago, and there is still no sign of Negan or the Saviors.

She's hiding off in the east corner with Daryl, Jesus, and a bunch of other people she doesn't know from Hilltop; waiting, thinking, overanalyzing and waiting some more.

"Hey, you okay?" Daryl snaps her out of it with a nudge, after she apparently misses her name being called.

She shakes her head as if it will rid her of her thoughts. "Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking."

"'Bout what?" Daryl asks around a toothpick. He only seems half interested in the answer, and probably only asks for lack of anything else to do, and maybe that's why Rosita gives him something.

"Just something Tara said before we left," she says carefully, looking down at the stolen walkie talkie in her hand instead of at her friend. "She said she had a bad feeling about all this." Which isn't untrue, of course, but that isn't really the part that's been playing over and over again in her mind.

Daryl grunts and doesn't seem too fazed as he peers through the scope on his rifle. "She's just bein' paranoid," he replies offhandedly before turning back to her, apparently not spotting anything of interest. "And worrin' about ya." Rosita thinks that might be as close to teasing as Daryl Dixon gets.

"If anything, we should finally be able tip the scales in our favor with this," Jesus jumps in from the other side of Daryl. "The Saviors think they have the upper hand against a half armed Kingdom, they're not gonna be prepared for our fully weaponized army."

"If it ever happens," she sighs indignantly, just as the walkie in her hand crackles to life.

"This is Dr. Eugene Porter, Chief Engineer, speaking," Eugene's voice suddenly sounds through the speakers.

Daryl snarls at the sound of his voice and Rosita knows the feeling. "Son of a bitch."

"To all out there listening, I, also known as Negan, have discovered a rat, in the kitchen." Rosita narrows her eyes at the device. "Only logical course of action is to set a trap," he continues, and there's something off in his voice that maybe only Rosita knows him well enough to pick up on. He sounds hurried and nervous, in a way he didn't the last time she overheard him giving orders.

"Was he always this weird?" Jesus asks, and Rosita quickly shushes him.

"I'm gonna need a dozen rat traps back here PFQ, so they'll either run home in a hurry or it'll a bloodbath." He pauses for affect, or maybe for fear. "Negan is currently occupied on Operation Magic Trick the Prick, so in the meantime, please direct any questions to yours truly, Dr. Eugene Porter, aka Negan."

The walkie goes silent just as abruptly as it came to life, and Rosita feels something settle heavily in the pit of her stomach as she puts it all together. "It's a trap," she says softly, to herself.

"What?" Jesus asks and he's oblivious but one look at Daryl confirms what Rosita already knows.

"It's a trap," she says again slowly, and then she's screaming. " _It's a trap!_ "

She can hear Daryl yelling after her and feel blind terror crawling up her throat, but Rosita doesn't wait for anyone else before she starts running home.

 

 

Rosita's legs almost give out from under her three times by the time Alexandria's tower comes into view, but the echoes of gunfire and the tightening around her heart power her through it.

She finally gets to the gate, and the place is a warzone. But considering all she could imagine on the run home was returning to a graveyard, it could be a hell of a lot worse. So Rosita takes just a moment to catch her breath before she enters the fray, her mission set and her gun drawn.

She loses count of how many Saviors she shoots by the time she finds Carl in the middle of town, flat on his back and hands raised in the air; eye squeezed shut as he waits for the gun in his face to go off.

Rosita doesn't stop as she raises her own gun and aims, hitting the guy square in the back of the head, and fuck Lucille all over again, because she totally would've killed Negan that day if it wasn't for that bitch.

"Where's Tara?" she asks desperately as she rushes to the boy and pulls him to his feet. Carl is visibly shaken in a way she doesn't think she's ever seen him and he stares at her like she's not really there until she shakes his arm roughly to snap him out of it.

"Negan, he…"

"I don't care about Negan," Rosita says forcefully, and it almost surprises her. " _Where's Tara_?"

"I- I don't know," he spits out, head turning to take in the chaos around them. "What… They came… and they, I didn't…"

Sometimes Rosita forgets he's still just a kid. "It was a trap, we know, but they're coming. Your dad, Michonne, they're coming," she promises him, grabbing him by the shoulders to keep his focus on her. "But I _need_ to find Tara. Please, where did you last see her?"

Carl shakes his head, and his hair falls in his face. "I don't… Your house, maybe?" he says, not sounding sure at all. "I think, I think that's where Judith is."

Makes sense, and if not, at least she has a place to start. She snatches Carl's hat up off the road and puts it on his bowed head, tilting it back so she can get a look at his face. "Get it together, or get somewhere safe until the others get here, you got it?"

She waits just long enough for him to nod before she's gone.

 

 

When Rosita finds Tara, she's bleeding on their front porch, and the terror inside her intensifies.

"What the fuck happened?!" she all but screams at Aaron as she hops over a few bodies to get to them. She jumps the steps and drops down to her knees on Tara's other side and immediately starts looking for the source of the bleeding.

"I don't know," Aaron cries, and he sounds as panicked as Rosita feels. "We were inside and then there were gunshots and we came out to see and I don't know where Eric went," he rambles, his hands shaking as they hover over Tara's body, not sure what to do. He's got blood all over his shirt, and Rosita doesn't want to know whose it is.

"My side," Tara chokes out, taking Rosita's hand in her trembling one and guiding it to her wound. "I'm okay," she promises both of them, but she doesn't sound it. "Go find Eric."

Aaron shakes his head. "No, no, you need help."

"It's okay, Rosita's here," she smiles, her words slurring a bit as she teeters in and out of consciousness. She raises a bloody hand to touch Rosita's face fondly. "Everything's okay now."

Rosita smiles painfully at her friend and finally looks away long enough to spare Aaron a glance. "Go, I've got her now," she agrees as she slips off her jacket, and she hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. "Go find him."

"Are you sure?" he double checks because he's a good guy, but she can see he's already gone.

" _Go_." Aaron takes the gun she hands him and runs blindly back into the madness without a second thought, leaving Rosita and Tara alone on their porch.

"How-How'd you know?"

Rosita almost smiles as she answers, "Eugene." It reminds her that maybe nothing is too bad it can't be fixed, maybe even this. "Some bad feeling you had, huh?"

Tara laughs and it sounds like it hurts. "Told you so."

"You did," she admits and blinks back her tears, curling up her jacket to press it hard against Tara's side. It doesn't look great, but it could be worse, and Rosita clings to that desperately, even as bullets continue to fly past them. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and she means it more than anything. "I'm so sorry I left."

"It's okay," Tara mumbles, hand covering the one over her injury, looking up at Rosita through glassy eyes like she's the best thing she's ever seen. "You came back."

A sob escapes, and then another one and Rosita buckles into herself as she finally collapses under the weight of it all. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," she cries, her forehead pressing against Tara's as she comes undone. "I'm sorry, just please stay, please just… _stay_. Just hang on for a little longer."

Rosita falls apart as Tara disappears from underneath her, and then she hears the sound of hope arriving in the distance.

 

**v.**

 

Tara spends days in the infirmary and so Rosita does, too.

She sits dutifully at her bedside, holding her hand and waiting. She thinks and worries, about everything, but mostly she regrets. She feels stupid for thinking she could prevent this feeling, beat the system; that she could stop love once it had already started.

Rosita was foolish and Michonne was right, and she knows this now. Has known it all along, really, but she gets her stubbornness from her abuela.

She wasted time when they don't have any of it to spare, and she won't make that mistake again.

 

 

Rosita is just waking up herself when Tara first opens her eyes, and it all feels so familiar.

"Hey you," she whispers, and she can already feel the tears. She grabs her water off the bedside table and helps Tara take a few sips while she gets herself the fuck together. "Do you remember what happened?"

Tara swallows thickly and blinks against the harsh lights. "I-I remember saying goodbye… to you," she starts and there's nothing pointed in her tone, so Rosita tries not to feel shitty about it. "I don't… remember a lot after that. Negan and the Saviors came… He had Dwight chained up, and he beat him." She winces at the memory, but can't seem to remember anything after that. "Is he okay?"

"He's alive," Rosita confirms, and shakes her head softly at the genuine look of relief that crosses Tara's face. "Negan left him for dead when they bounced. It was touch and go for a bit, but they have him stabilized for now."

"That's good," she replies and means it, and Rosita doesn't know how she still underestimates her capacity to care. "Is everyone else okay?"

Rosita informs Tara of the dead, lists the names of people she can remember. They were just people to her, and Tara too. They weren't _theirs_ , but she knows Tara will care more than she did. It's just who she is. "How are _you_ feeling?" she asks when she's done, because it's what _she_ cares about.

"Pretty shitty about the extra hole in my body," Tara chokes out as she tries to sit up and immediately discovers what a bad idea it is. "But a little bit smug about being right, not gonna lie," she still manages to finish as Rosita helps her get settled half way to upright.

"You usually are," she admits gracefully, a truth that took her too long to figure out. She can add it to the list. "Except…"

Tara's grin is slow to grow and hesitant, but there all the same. "What?"

"There is one thing you were wrong about," Rosita teases, trying to be brave though she's terrified.

"What?" Tara asks again, grin pulling wider.

And maybe it's not the right time, but maybe she doesn't care anymore. Maybe all that matters is that she does it at all.

The kiss is soft and simple, and warm; and it tastes the way it feels.

"It didn't mean nothing to me," Rosita pulls away to whisper. She brushes her thumb over the apple of Tara's cheek. "It was… everything. It was love." She doesn't know how else to say it. "I was just scared to lose you."

It sounds silly to say now; that after all that, it was just fear. But it's the truth, and Tara deserves at least that, after everything.

"I can't promise you won't," Tara says back just as softly and she feels it tingle against her lips.

"I know," Rosita sighs into another kiss, because she said it and Tara's still there. "That's okay."

There are enough things in the world for her to be afraid of; love isn't gonna be one of them anymore.

 

 

Tara heals slowly, and Rosita even slower, but they do it together.

They do it all together.

Fight, fuck, eat, sleep, walk, talk, learn, grow, love; together.

And they live.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, I'd love to hear any of your thoughts :)


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